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I look at an unconscious Thomas and a nearly passed-out Phil.
“We leave them here, and we run,” Quinn says slowly.
“No! We kill them both!” I stubbornly argue, shaking my head at the possibility of letting them live.
“Please, Mia, no, not here,” Cynthia once again begs. “Chandler’s career will be ruined. Please don’t.”
I despise that everyone is taking away my one chance at killing the two people who ruined my life. And the two people who killed Hank. This moment has been driving me for so many weeks, and now that I’ve been told no, I just can’t accept it.
“We’ll take them with us! We can keep them hostage until our names are cleared. Hell, it’ll be worth going to jail to see them both dead. To see them pay for what they did to Hank.”
As I think of Hank’s last moments on this earth, my finger twitches on the trigger, ready to claim my retribution.
But Quinn softly squeezes my hand with his. “Let’s go.”
“Let her do it, Quinn! He deserves to die for what he did and for what he wants her to do!”
I spin toward Tristan, silently begging him not to disclose our secret.
He thankfully lets it go and turns his head away, clenching his jaw.
“Why can’t they go with us?” I yell, knowing the answer.
“Because of the five hundred witnesses downstairs,” Quinn calmly replies. “Someone will see us, and then we’ll be in even more trouble. All of Abi’s dad’s hard work would have been pointless if we get caught. Abi’s life depends on his survival, Red.”
He’s right, but I don’t want to see reason.
“There’s a back way? There’s got to be a back way?” I beg, looking at Cynthia.
“Do you really think he’ll go quietly?” She sniffles, and I look at Phil, who smirks menacingly.
No doubt he’ll create a song and dance about being kidnapped. And if we gag him, we risk someone seeing us.
“So what, we just leave him here?” I ask, disbelieving this is even an option.
No, I refuse to accept this.
“Make the guests leave,” I demand, though I know that would draw even more attention to our situation.
There really is no other choice.
But leaving them here without any consequence for what they did leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Sagging in defeat, I whisper, “He killed Hank. He needs to pay.”
“And he will,” Quinn states, slowly unwrapping my fingers from the gun.
“How do we know he won’t cause a scene with the guests when we leave?”
It’s my final plea.
Phil answers me this time. I almost forgot he was here. “Because, Mia, you know how I hate witnesses, and I don’t have a problem with the lovely guests downstairs because they don’t owe me millions of dollars, unlike you. No, my only problem is with you. And because of that, the people you love will pay for your sins.
“Those people downstairs can enjoy their Christmas, and I’ll sneak out, undetected, like I was never here, as I too do not wish to draw attention to myself. I want you, Mia—only you. Those people aren’t collateral, but everyone in this room is,” he says, looking at every single person behind me.
“So you better run far, far, far away because when I find you, I won’t be so generous.”
I know he’s baiting me, and it’s working.
